


What is the Lifespan of a Flerken?

by csmithman



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brotp, Fury and Goose are the BROTP to end all BROTPs, Gen, Goose is the best part of Captain Marvel, Goose keeps Fury sane, I'm not gonna kill off a cat I'm not a monster, major character death is NOT goose, okay it says major character death but if you've seen infinity war you know what to expect, some Agents of SHIELD references, squints at Russo brothers, timeline may be screwy idk, watch a hardened spy become a fool for a tiny cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csmithman/pseuds/csmithman
Summary: The intertwined lives of Nick Fury, agent of SHIELD, and Goose, Flerken. How did these two spend the years between Captain Marvel and Infinity War?





	What is the Lifespan of a Flerken?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Galactic Response Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200273) by [SassySnowperson (DramaticEntrance)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaticEntrance/pseuds/SassySnowperson). 



> This fic is inspired by SassySnowperson's delightful Galactic Response Time and an article I wrote about the BROTP to end all BROTPs, which got me wondering... what happened to Goose??
> 
> Warning, some sadness. Thanks, Infinity War.

Nick Fury knew for a fact that Flerkens were sentient. One might say he knew this because of the assistance that Goose had provided at Mar-Vell’s laboratory, being smart enough to contain the Tesseract, especially seeing as how Goose had known to attack the Kree guards but to spare Talos when he’d been disguised as a Kree. There was clear intelligence in the not-quite-a-cat’s actions.

But no, that’s not the reason Fury knew that Flerkens were sentient.

He knew they were sentient because Goose was currently laying on very important papers, flicking her tail and looking _oh so satisfied_.

There was no way that that smug creature wasn’t fully aware of just how inconvenient she was being.

That may have been a universal cat constant -- Fury had known his fair share of infuriating felines -- but Goose was smarter than most.

The papers she was lying on were a collection of boring requisition forms. Fury’s initial suggestion for the Avenger project had been tentatively approved, but now he had a lot of bureaucratic nonsense to wade through. Avenger was top level secret, only accessible to him -- the originator -- and level seven or above operatives. Which meant Fury couldn’t pawn the paperwork off on his young partner, only a level two.

He sighed. Coulson was _so good_ at paperwork. If only.

Goose, seeming to realize that Fury was frustrated, took matters into her own paws. Fury needed a break and by god she was going to make him take one.

Realizing the futility of arguing with any cat, let alone a sentient alien cat who could eat him whole without any trouble, Fury gave in. He sighed as he sat back in his chair, only then realizing how much stress he’d been holding in his shoulders. He reached out and ran a hand over Goose’s soft fur, eliciting a happy purr.

“Five minutes,” Fury said sternly to the cat, who he could swear was smiling. “Five minutes and then it’s back to work.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Coulson poked his head in Fury’s office and saw the older agent relaxed, head back, eyes closed, and a purring tabby cat in his lap. Coulson smiled and nodded to the cat, who was regarding him through slitted eyes. He quietly left, pulling the door silently closed, one thought in his head -- _did that cat just wink at me_?

* * *

“Do you have an actual name?”

Goose, who’d been playing happily with a catnip mouse -- cats are cats the whole galaxy across, apparently -- paused and looked at Fury expectantly.

“I’ve been calling you Goose for years but it can’t be your real name. Did Mar-Vell just pick it because she liked Top Gun? Do Flerkens have names? Do you speak to each other?”

Goose gave an all too human shrug and went back to her hunt. Fury decided he had too much on his mind to ponder the social dynamics of an alien species at the moment and left it at that.

“Goose it is.”

* * *

Fury came back to his apartment late at night. It had been a long day, a long week, a long year. A long _lifetime_ when you are one of the highest operatives of a massive secret organization like SHIELD.

Although Goose was usually a common fixture in his office, she’d been staying at home the past few days. Despite their language barrier, she’d been able to make herself quite clear. Apparently she wasn’t feeling well and if he tried to force her into the car he’d end up with another scar to match the one over his eye.

Being rather an intelligent person, Fury had left her in peace. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d missed her, though. Long days in the office were more manageable with his little friend along. He’d always been a cat person, and now having a cat who was at least as intelligent as him, but far cuter, went a long way toward brightening his life.

He hoped she was okay.

As he walked in the door, he felt relief at being home.

“Goose?” He called down the hall, knowing that, unlike most cats, Goose _might_ answer him. Might.

A welcoming yowl came down the hall, telling Fury where to find her. When he walked into the bathroom, where she’d taken refuge, though, all the peace and relief he’d been feeling fled.

“Are those… _eggs??_ ”

* * *

Coulson walked into Fury’s office with only a cursory knock. Most operatives were too afraid of Fury to do so, but Coulson had worked with the man far too long to be afraid.

After all, it was hard to fear a man after you’d seen him fall asleep with a cat on his lap for the 100th time.

“The report you asked for, sir,” Coulson said as he walked up. He placed the folder down on a precarious stack of similar folders as Fury continued to focus on whatever he was doing on the computer. Coulson made to leave, but stayed when Fury indicated to do so.

He settled down on one of the chairs across from Fury, smiling when Goose came and rubbed against his ankles.

“Hey there pretty lady,” he crooned as the cat hopped up on his lap. Goose settled in for a cuddle, enjoying Coulson’s ministrations as he scratched behind her ear. Aside from Nick and the Rambeaus, Coulson was her favorite person.

Fury finished his typing and turned back to Coulson, raising an eyebrow as he watched his best operative murmur nonsense words to the Flerken. Cats possessed the ability to make fools of us all, apparently.

“How was Stark?”

“Irritable,” Coulson replied, focusing on the debrief but continuing to pet Goose. “As always. Luckily Ms. Potts was there to smooth things over, as always. And, of course, he saved the day. Also as always. It’s all in the report.”

“I know it is, I just like hearing from you. You see more than you put in your reports.”

“I still say he doesn’t play well with others. I still think he’s our best bet.”

“I’m afraid that you might be right,” Fury agreed. “Thanks Coulson. I can always count on you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Coulson said, recognizing the dismissal. He gave Goose one final pat, then paused. “How old was Goose when you got her?”

“I’m… not sure,” Fury answered, hesitating. “At least six years, but I have no idea. Why?”

“It’s been sixteen years. She must be getting up there. You take her to the vet regularly?”

“Yes,” Fury lied with all the skill of a man who’d been a spy for decades. Obviously he couldn’t take the Flerken to the vet. But Coulson got him thinking.

As the agent made his way out of the office, Fury kept thinking. As he continued working, he kept thinking. As he made his way home that evening, Goose happily perched on the dashboard, he kept thinking.

Just what was the lifespan of a Flerken??

* * *

“As far as anyone else knows, you’re at least 22. That’s getting old for an Earth cat. We need to do something before someone starts asking questions.”

Although Goose had long since coughed up the Tesseract -- _that_ was a weird thing to walk in on -- Fury had kept her with him. She was a good companion, the perfect mix of calming and deadly. And she had yet to seem like she wanted to leave. He wouldn’t stop her if she did, though the thought pained him.

But her dedication was causing its own problems. He thought back to Coulson’s questions. Other people were bound to notice that Fury’s cat -- a common topic of chatter among SHIELD agents -- was still around after almost two decades.

Now that the presence of aliens and magic were common knowledge, at least at SHIELD, all it would take was one smart agent to start asking questions about Fury’s seemingly immortal cat. And, unfortunately for Fury, all his agents were smart.

“Do you want to leave? I can probably find a way to get in touch with Danvers.”

The look Goose gave him made her opinion very clear. She didn’t need words to tell him that was a stupid idea.

“Well we’ve got to do _something_. I don’t think you’d enjoy being researched by SHIELD scientists.”

Fury had long since resigned himself to the futility of arguing with a cat.

“Goose…” he began. “I think we have to fake your death.”

* * *

It had been four months since Goose’s “death.” Fury _knew_ she wasn’t dead -- they’d planned it all out. He’d stolen this substance from the SHIELD that gave the appearance of death, slowing the heart rate and the breathing. He’d staged a “discovery” in his office, his loud and emotional reaction drawing numerous agents to the office of the usually reserved man. There were many witnesses to the occasion.

Coulson had cried. Fury felt bad about that.

After taking his presumably deceased cat out of the office, Fury smuggled Goose out to Louisiana. Maria had volunteered to watch over her for a while, until Fury could “adopt a new tabby” and bring Goose home.

Fury _knew_ all that. But he still missed his cat.

But it had been four months and Fury thought it was time to bring her home. Coulson had started hinting that it might be time to move on, casually mentioning that he’d seen a pet store full of kittens on his last mission, never mind the fact that that mission was in New Mexico, which didn’t really help Fury out, now did it? But Fury could take a hint.

“It’d be nice to have a cat around the office again,” Coulson had remarked, ignoring the fact that Goose had been against regulations, technically. Fury was allowed to do what he wanted.

So Fury had gone to Louisiana, spent some time with Maria, asked after Monica, and reunited with the creature who had, all unexpectedly, become his closest companion. He brought Goose back to DC, purring all the while, and brought her to his office with a brand new collar.

When Coulson walked in that afternoon, he’d stopped in his tracks. His eyes went from the tabby cat in the cat bed on the floor to Fury, who stared back unphased.

“You got a new cat?”

“You seemed to be hinting that way,” Fury replied.

“I mentioned kittens _once_.” Coulson rolled his eyes, but he was already over by the cat bed, sunk to his haunches with a hand out for the cat to sniff. “Girl or boy?”

“Girl,” Fury responded as the cat started rubbing against Coulson’s hand.

“How old?”

“A year and a half.”

“She looks just like Goose,” Coulson observed. Sharp spy and all.

“I like tabbies,” Fury responded, nonchalant.

“What’s her name?”

That actually gave Fury pause. He realized he couldn’t exactly keep calling her Goose. That would surely raise a few eyebrows. Coulson noticed his hesitation.

“Haven’t named her yet?”

“I… don’t know what to name her.”

“Well, Goose was named after a hotshot pilot from an 80s film. Why not Solo? You’ve always liked Star Wars.”

Fury blinked.

“Solo was a punk ass bitch. We all know the real hero was Chewie.”

“Chewie, huh? I think she likes it.”

Indeed, the cat was purring and rubbing against Coulson.

“Chewie it is, I guess,” Fury agreed.

Later, after Coulson had given his report on Selvig’s work on the Tesseract and left to go to the facility in person, Fury looked at his cat.

“Chewie?”

The cat looked unerringly right at Fury.

“I knew Goose wasn’t your real name.”

* * *

New York had been rough. Fury had honestly thought that the Avengers, his ragtag team named in Carol’s honor, wouldn’t be able to save the day. He’d wished for Danvers to show up and save the day, stop aliens from destroying Earth another time. She hadn’t, but the Avengers had managed to pull it together, against all odds.

They’d won.

But it came at a cost. Fury had pissed off the council, who disapproved of his actions. Stark was going to need help, and a closer eye. Barton was shaken, Romanoff almost as bad.

Coulson was dead.

And then he wasn’t.

Fury had been unsure of using TAHITI. He knew the risks. Coulson himself had argued against it. Coulson may have been his best agent, but Fury wasn’t sure about the procedure. Coulson hadn’t just been a good agent, he’d been a good man, the closest Fury had to a friend. He wasn’t sure he could put Coulson through that.

But when he’d come to the office and found Goose -- _Chewie_ \-- curled up not in her own bed but in Coulson’s chair, he’d realized it needed to be done. Coulson was necessary.

That decision would probably haunt him for the rest of his life.

Afterwards, after the procedure had been successfully completed, after Coulson had “returned from Tahiti,” after Fury had sent the man off with his own team, he wondered.

“Did I do the right thing?”

Luckily, the only person who could hear his doubts was his faithful Flerken. They were in Louisiana, Fury taking a much needed break. New York had shaken more than just his operatives. He knew it would take a long time to recover. Louisiana seemed a good bet.

It also meant Fury got away from surveillance, even if just for a little bit. He’d been aware of increasing eyes and ears on him lately. Maybe his actions at New York had convinced the council that he couldn’t be trusted. His office was definitely bugged, his apartment possibly.

Fury couldn’t take the risk of Chewie being discovered as more than your average house cat. So they’d had a conversation about keeping up appearances. Here in Louisiana, though, Fury could relax. And he could seek the advice of the alien who had, against all odds, become his sounding board and friend.

Right now, he needed that advice. Lately, everything seemed to be too much. He was questioning everything -- a good trait for a spy, except when one started questioning their _own_ decisions.

Did he make the right call, activating the Avengers? Could they be counted upon? Did he do the right thing with Coulson? Was that going to come back and bite him in the ass? Was SHIELD doing the right thing? Was he leading them in the right direction?

Those questions, and more, kept popping into his head at the most inopportune times. He needed to get centered.

Chewie might not be able to _talk_ to him directly, but she still helped. As his question hung in the air -- _did I do the right thing_ \-- she looked at him very deliberately. She got up from her spot on Maria’s porch and climbed into his lap. There was an air of gravity to the cat, as if she had something important to convey.

And then she reached up with her paw and bopped him on the nose.

It was so unexpected that Fury couldn’t help but laugh, which he supposed was Chewie’s goal, given that she curled up and started purring on his lap.

“Okay, okay, I get the message. Stop taking myself so seriously.”

Man and cat stayed on the porch as the sun set, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

* * *

“Chewie, I think I have to stage _my_ death.”

The Flerken stared at Fury, unimpressed.

Recently, things had gotten really shady, even for a top spy at a secret organization. Things were not right at SHIELD, and Fury found himself feeling distinctly paranoid. Then again, was it really paranoia if you were right?

Now Rogers was asking questions, poking his nose into things that didn’t concern him. It got Fury looking closer and realizing that something was wrong. He knew he was putting a target on his back, though. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but knew he needed to do something to protect himself.

And then he remembered Goose’s “death.” He’d stolen enough of the drug from SHIELD for a couple doses, preparing for a rainy day when he might have to “lose” another Flerken. There was enough for a human sized dose. It was a good safeguard.

But he had to let Chewie in on the plan.

“It’s just a possibility, right now. But I wanted you to be prepared. Someone might come by the apartment, sweep through. If that happens, you need to get out. Can’t let anybody take you. Go to Hill -- you like Hill -- and she’ll take care of you until I can get you back. Okay?”

Much as the Flerken disapproved of the plan, made clear in her lashing tail and slitted eyes, she nodded assent. She _did_ like Hill, after all, and having faked her own death only a year or so ago, she recognized the importance of being prepared.

“It won’t be forever.”

* * *

Chewie didn’t like being on the run. Having faked his death and overseen the destruction of SHIELD, Fury had gone to ground. They were going from safehouse to safehouse, conducting their own investigations. Chewie missed the comfort of their own apartment, of her bed in Fury’s office, of familiar life.

Not that she would leave Fury. He’d tried, tried leaving her with Maria when he’d stopped there first. But when he went to leave, she was mysteriously in the car. She went all over the place with him, even when it caused some difficulties with customs.

He’d never admit it, but it really touched Fury that Chewie wouldn’t leave him. He had no one else so dedicated, not anymore.

But when Hill called him up and said the Avengers were dealing with something they may not be able to handle, he had to leave her behind.

“It’s not safe. Things look pretty bad. You gotta stay here, keep an eye on Maria and Monica for me, alright?”

She pawed at him to show her displeasure, but still let him pet her behind the ears before he left.

When Fury returned a few days later, he pretty much collapsed onto the guest bed Maria kept ready for him. It didn’t take long for Chewie to curl up beside him, protecting him from anyone who would dare to wake him.

* * *

They’d been through a lot, Fury and Goose-now-Chewie. It was more than twenty years since he’d picked up a fuzzy companion, and those twenty years had been a _lot_.

Chewie had been with him as he started the Avenger initiative, with him through all the paperwork and bureaucracy and trial and error. With him when he came home in 2008 ranting about the arrogant billionaire asshole who might just save them all. With him when Coulson reported that actual honest-to-god (make that _gods_ ) aliens had shown up in New Mexico. With him when they rescued a soldier lost in time (Goose had been a particular favorite of Rogers while he was recuperating).

Chewie had seen New York and Sokovia. Chewie had kept Fury calm while he gnashed his teeth over his inability to do anything while his team tried to tear themselves apart in an airport.

There’d been other things over the past two decades, of course. Fury had lived through egg cycles (Flerken eggs were a whole new game and he wasn’t sure what to do with that). There had been trial and error regarding feeding (what did Flerkens eat, aside from Tesseracts and Kree soldiers?). Fury _still_ wasn’t sure what the Flerken’s actual name was; he’d considered asking Thor if Allspeak worked on animals, but didn’t want to run the risk of exposing Chewie. And she answered to Chewie well enough.

It had been a long two decades, but a good two decades nonetheless.

But it appeared that their time together was at an end. As Fury watched people disintegrating around him -- including _Hill_ , not _Hill_ , she’d been by his side almost as long as Chewie -- he knew he had to act. Desperately, he pulled out the pager he still carried, trying to send a message to Danvers. If ever there was an emergency, this was it.

As he felt himself start to go, though, his last thought wasn’t of Danvers. It wasn’t of the Avengers or the world or existence.

Fury’s last thought was of an orange tabby.

* * *

“ _Where’s Fury_.”

Those had been the words Carol opened with. Probably not her most diplomatic greeting. But when Carol’s pager went off with an emergency, no message signal, she’d known something was wrong. As she made her way to Earth, reports started coming in. Half the universe, _gone_.

By the time she got to Earth, she was starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. She was powerful, sure. But she was still just one person.

And then she’d tracked down the pager, met the Avengers -- named after _her_ \-- and learned the truth. Fury was gone. His last action was to call her.

How was she supposed to save the universe? All on her own?

One of the Avengers -- someone named Rogers -- had shown her to the last place they’d known Fury was living. It was dark, sparse. It didn’t really feel like a place someone lived, just a place they’d stayed. She walked around the apartment, Rogers having given her some privacy. There were no personal touches, no photos, nothing to indicate that Fury had lived there.

Carol noticed an odd sound as she touched the closet door, and went to investigate. After tapping and listening, she discovered a hidden panel. Behind the panel was something Carol didn’t expect, or rather some _things_ : a cat tower, a variety of cat toys, two small dishes.

And Goose. Oh, Goose.

Upon seeing Carol, the Flerken made a beeline to the familiar face, yowling all the way. Carol realized that Fury had kept the catlike alien all these years. It was surprisingly sentimental coming from the spy, but he did say he had a soft spot for cats.

As Goose rubbed against Carol’s legs, demanding attention, Carol found herself choking up.

If there was anyone who understood how lost Carol felt without Fury, it was the Flerken.

“We’ll get him back, girl,” Carol promised as she sank to the floor, Goose climbing into her lap. “We’ll get him back. I promise.”


End file.
